


Alluvium - Chapter 3

by AWizardWithoutHerStaff



Series: Alluvium - Uprooted from Sarkan's POV [3]
Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/M, POV Sarkan, Rewrite, Wizard, cranky wizard, lunatic witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWizardWithoutHerStaff/pseuds/AWizardWithoutHerStaff
Summary: I had made the path from the mountain pass to my door as ill-suited to courtly guests as was humanly possible without it being overt, but still this monstrosity teetered resolutely towards me.Chapter 3 of Uprooted from Sarkan's point of view.In which we have some unwelcome guests, we learn EXACTLY what Sarkan thinks of Prince Marek, and our hero finds himself an unwitting accomplice in the attempted murder of said prince.This is a re-write of Uprooted from Sarkan's point of view - it follows the story of Uprooted very closely and will spoil stuff if you've not read the book. The story and most of the dialogue are Naomi Novik's (except when Agnieszka isn't about, and then I get to have fun with it).This was a weird project which came out of the COVID-19 pandemic, when it got hard to concentrate on my own writing and this seemed like a suitably mad thing to get into.WARNING: I chose not to use archive warnings on this, but - as those of you familiar with Uprooted will know - this is the chapter in which Marek attempts to assault Agnieszka. Sarkan blusters into this situation after the fact, so there is no description of the assault, but reference is made to it.
Relationships: Agnieszka & The Dragon | Sarkan, Agnieszka/The Dragon | Sarkan
Series: Alluvium - Uprooted from Sarkan's POV [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693372
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	Alluvium - Chapter 3

# Alluvium

## Chapter 3

I felt it cross into my valley at dawn, the workings I had lain at my borders alerting me to their arrival. I crossed to the window immediately and used a spell of long-sight to show me exactly what I most dreaded to see. In a blooming cloud of dust, a great ornate carriage shuddered laboriously down my road, bouncing on every rut and uneven stone; I had made the path from the mountain pass to my door as ill-suited to courtly guests as was humanly possible without it being overt, but still this monstrosity teetered resolutely towards me.

Worse, I could see clearly now that it was a royal carriage, its garish green banner snapping out behind it and announcing my unwelcome guests loudly to anyone who cared to look. Lavish plated gold, dirty and chipped by its journey from the capital, coiled around the windows and the rims of its wheels, ostentatious in the extreme. Young Prince Marek’s hideous crest was stamped on its doors: a green, many-headed hydra. The procession had all of the usual pomp and undue ceremony, with tall soldiers surrounding the carriage on horseback, all dressed in the same obnoxious grey and green livery. There were six of them to protect the snake inside: a small number for a member of the royal household, though that was another casual kind of arrogance.

I suppose he thought there was nothing between here and Kralia that could offer harm to one as great and storied as he. Prince Marek hardly had the wit to give the Wood the respect it deserved, and who else would threaten the ‘Hero Prince?’ Why, the greatest threat to His Highness in my Valley probably came from my relentless disaster of a pupil: perhaps she would cover him in his own supper or collapse a great working on his head.

The girl. I was caught by the thought of her. She was barely a fledgling, so newly hatched that in terms of magic she was little more than a defenceless child. She was far from ready for the demands of these courtly visitors – for the devouring gaze of a prince, no less. I was possessed by the need to keep her away from him, to keep her someplace this viper would be unable to get his teeth into her.

One might be surprised, as I was, that I did not consider this an opportunity. A new witch has the right to be presented to the crown; in fact, the King’s law demands it. Once the great gift of magic has been established, the witch or wizard must be made known to the court and to the Charovnikov, to ensure their proper development. A wielder of magic is a blade for the kingdom, after all, one which much be honed and sharpened appropriately, not left unattended to rust. My belligerent, half-wit of an apprentice could be taken and trained in the capital, and my mornings would become free from the interminable practice of filling her feeble mind with minor cantrips.

She wasn’t ready, I told myself. The girl could barely string a civil sentence together; she would hardly survive the intricacies of court. I was quite certain she would be an egregious embarrassment to herself and to me. Even here, in the presence of the prince, the damage she could cause was not insignificant. And, on top of all that, I had need of her _here_. She was my connection – my link to the Valley and the wellspring of power running through the Spindle. To take another girl now would be inconceivable. Quite beside the inordinate amount of hassle it would cause me, the good people of the Valley would hardly sit idly by while I stole away another of their children.

No, the girl would stay here and _well_ away from Prince Marek.

I cast _vanastalem_ on myself and then immediately felt irritated that I’d made any effort for the prince. The clothes my spell conjured were as black as my mood: a zupan of black silk edged in silver, the shimmer of a charcoal brocade only just visible in the thin morning light. It would serve. The soles of my new boots clicked off the stone halls as I made my way to the library. Perhaps by embracing the persona of ‘dark wizard’ I could keep the mewling nobles from clamouring at my door. It was little enough to hope for.

As I watched the torturous approach of the carriage from the library window, I realised I couldn’t hear the usual stomping of the girl’s footsteps on my stairs or the clattering cacophony echoing up from my kitchen. I felt a brief twinge of apprehension: the last time she was this quiet, _Luthe’s Summoning_ had almost torn a new hole in the fabric of existence. But she appeared eventually, unusually silent as she set out the dishes on the table behind me.

‘Finish with that,’ I said without turning around, ‘and go upstairs.’

‘What?’ she said with her usual degree of comprehension.

I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. The carriage was nearly upon us; I had no patience for explanations today.

‘Are you grown suddenly deaf?’ I asked, in a tone I thought her likely to respond to. ‘Stop fussing with those plates and take yourself off. And keep to your rooms until I summon you again.’

That seemed to penetrate the miasma which inhabited her skull, for she practically flew out of the room, and I could hear her footsteps and rustling skirts as she raced the rest of the way up to her room. Good.

I made myself smile and bow as Prince Marek erupted from the carriage, leaping the steps and buckling on his sword in a casual display of youthful bravado. He was all cheer and false conviviality; I met it with an equally false deference and quiet contempt.

‘I loathe a coach more than a chimera,’ he said, as if he met them both with equal regularity. ‘A week shut up in the thing: why can’t you ever come to court?’

‘Your Highness will have to forgive me,’ I answered, the smile already wearing thin on my face. ‘My duties here occupy me.’

He strode ahead of me into the tower, removing his gloves and handing them to one of his attendants without so much as a glance. ‘Ah yes. Your fight against The Wood.’ I could hear the disdain seeping through his pretence of good cheer. ‘How goes the _battle_?’

‘Poorly, Your Highness,’ I answered truthfully. ‘Every year the war with Rosya continues, the Wood grows in strength.’

‘A pity, then, that you do not seek my aid in your fight,’ he said, glancing along the hallway with a suffering expression. ‘With my men behind you – and the aid of a Wizard such as Solya – we could reduce your Wood to kindling soon enough.’

I faltered in my step. He spoke as if he and the Falcon had ever deigned to offer their support in this fight before, but the Wood had always remained beneath their courtly notice, far from the glitter and glory of their usual ballad-worthy pursuits. That he would offer such aid now – perhaps this visit would prove to be more costly than I had anticipated.

‘Forgive me, Your Highness,’ I gestured to the library and followed behind him, ‘but I thought your men and the Falcon fully occupied at the Rosyan front.’

‘Lord, you really have been sequestered away here for too long, Sarkan,’ Marek turned and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. I grimaced with all the apparent good grace I could muster. ‘The border has been quiet for months. We are at peace; my father seems content to allow the Rosyans to strengthen their armies and prepare for an assault in the spring.’

This tack brought my feet back onto more solidly familiar ground. I feigned ignorance of the machinations of the Magnati, and Prince Marek was more than happy to instruct me on the intricacies of his plans for the Kingdom’s defences, delighted by my apparent lack of knowledge. He’d brought his own men to attend to him, thank goodness, as without the girl I had no servants to see to our needs. I could see that he enjoyed every time I had to wait on him, drinking a not insubstantial portion of my finest spirits. I suffered it without complaint: I had seen plenty of Mareks in my time.

Prince Marek was the second son of the king, a slight which he did not suffer kindly. His brother was a rational and well thought of man, likely to be a great king, while Marek scrabbled for glory in any dark corner he could find it. Prince Marek, the great hero – he wore the songs of the bards like a mantle of gaudy feathers. He was the kind of animal who needed to strut and show his teeth to demonstrate that he was in control, like a small dog yipping at the heels of greater beasts. He was most predictable when he was assured of his superiority, and so I granted it to him in abundance. I played my role well, assuring him of the fire-heart refining beneath the tower and the potions of stone-skin with which he could fill his cannonballs. It seemed to be working well, for a time.

It was late when he finally returned to the point of his exhausting, inescapable visit, but of course he came back to it eventually. The Wood.

‘We must act on this now, Sarkan, this threat has loomed over us long enough,’ he said, as if this fact might have escaped my notice. ‘It is an enemy to Polnya just like any other. It must be brought to the sword.’

‘Your Highness,’ I said, mustering every fraction of patience I have ever possessed, ‘I understand that to great men—’ I forced the words through my teeth, ‘—the Wood must seem like an enemy we can march on with an army, with axes and swords, but it is not. An attack would likely only anger it and—’

‘Good. Maybe it is time _somebody_ angered it.’ My jaw ached with restraint. ‘It seems to me that this battle needs a commander: someone with a military disposition to lead this campaign. For too long, witches and wizards have overseen this border, armed with books and offering us little but frightened doomsaying.’

The image of my predecessor, the Raven, flashed unbidden to my mind, the roots of a great heart tree knotted through her broken body. I’d been the one to end her life; it was all I had been able to do in the end.

‘This is not a military threat, Highness,’ I could hear the hiss of anger in my voice. ‘Perhaps His Highness would consider leaving this in the hands of those with actual _expertise_ in these matters.’

‘And what has your ‘expertise’ brought us, Dragon? My men could—’

‘The Wood would take your men,’ I said coldly. ‘If they’re lucky, the creatures which inhabit the Wood would only kill them, but I assure you that no such mercy would await Your Highness. It would twist you to its own machinations, take your mind and leave you as a hollow seed to spread its corruption – or perhaps it would simply imprison you within the Wood, plant a heart tree in your flesh and find a way to fan the flames of the war with your absence.’

Prince Marek was taut and rigid with his anger. I could see the full whites of his eyes, and his knuckles paled as he gripped the arms of his chair. But there was a shimmer of fear there, as well, and so I was not repentant; he was a child and sometimes children needed to be frightened.

‘Like it took my mother, you mean,’ he said, each word dripping with venom. ‘The Queen still lives, does she not?’

I steepled my fingers beneath my chin. ‘Yes, Your Highness, it is likely that she still lives, though not as you remember her. After even a few weeks, days even, the corruption—’

‘Corruption be damned,’ the prince got to his feet, looming over me. ‘I will not leave the Queen to be— to _that_.’

‘Your Highness,’ I said, suddenly feeling very tired, ‘if there were a way to free the Queen then—’

‘Enough.’ He turned away. ‘You and my father and Sigmund, all of you bleating like sheep – no, enough. I don’t mean to let this rest.’

I had no doubt he would not. I leaned my head back in my chair and closed my eyes. This would bring trouble, as it always did when pompous princes meddled in matters which they did not understand.

I woke to the prickle of magic. It took me a moment to rouse: to realise the significance of what I had felt – a spell cast within the confines of my tower. _The girl_.

I threw aside the curtains of my bed and shrugged on my dressing gown even as I hurried out onto the landing. _What could she possibly be doing now?_ The prince was asleep but two doors from my own. If he became aware there was another wielder of magic in the tower – that I had hidden her from them – well, it would hardly bode well for either the girl or myself. She had chosen a monumentally inconvenient moment to become interested in her own magic.

It was then that I heard the low murmur of the prince’s voice, coming from above me, from the girl’s room no less.

That snake. That hateful beast. He’d intended this from the beginning, to come and force himself on her. He meant to use her in his games against _me_ , punish _her_ for my lack of cooperation. The vile pig. I was so angry I could feel fire in my gut and taste smoke in my mouth. A violent clanging came from above me as I leapt up the stairs which, coupled with her magic, I could only begin to imagine what that could mean. I threw open the bedroom door and—

And Prince Marek was certainly _there_.

It was the most staggeringly absurd sight I have ever witnessed. The heroic prince was on his knees, his face bruised and bloodied – I thought I could see the shape of his head dented into the tray she’d been bludgeoning him with. Agnieszka stood over him, her weapon held high in her trembling hands, dressed in a lavish cream gown now splattered with the prince’s blood. She stared in wide-eyed shock, having _literally_ _beaten_ back her would-be-suitor. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch despite the obvious danger she’d placed us both in.

‘You idiot,’ I breathed, ‘what have you done _now_?’

The first thing was to see to the prince’s safety; as much as he deserved a good beating, a dead Prince was not something I had any desire to deal with. I looked over his face, taking in the full measure of Agnieszka’s handiwork. Prince Marek was completely unconscious, his eyes glazed – concussed, no doubt, though I couldn’t be sure of the extent of the damage. It was certainly worse than I had anticipated.

‘Splendid,’ I muttered, lifting one limp arm and letting it drop back onto the bed. She’d brought down one of Polnya’s greatest warriors with nothing but a breakfast tray. I’d be impressed – if a dead prince wouldn’t mean certain death for both of us.

She hovered behind me, horrified, her lace-clad arms wrapped tightly around herself. ‘He’s not— he’s not—’

‘If you don’t want a man dead, don’t bludgeon him over the head repeatedly,’ I snapped at her; there was no time for her regrets now. ‘Go down to the laboratory and bring me the yellow elixir in the clear flask from the shelf in the back. _Not_ the red one, and _not_ the violet one – and try if possible not to break it as you bring it up the stairs, unless you want to try and persuade the king that your virtue was worth the life of his son.’

I had no time to consider whether she was capable of this seemingly simple task. I placed my hand on the prince’s head and began to utter words of healing, a number of incantations from _Groshno’s Minor Charms_ and _The Conjurations of Metrodora_ together would build the framework I needed; I could feel my power spill forth in cool lines of soothing magic. I didn’t stop when she returned, holding out my hand for elixir. By some miracle, she had retrieved the correct bottle intact, though she thrust it into my hand without opening it, so that I had to work the cork free with the thumb and forefinger of one hand.

She _did_ have the wit to help me get him to take it, leaning forward to pinch the prince’s nose shut. I couldn’t help but marvel at what strange accomplices we made, the two of us leaning over the beaten prince as the light of the elixir slid down his throat and into his stomach. Thankfully for both of us, it seemed to be enough.

I’m no great healer – it’s not where my particular talents lie – so the magic took a greater toll on me than I would care to admit. I closed my eyes and sank back against the wall, feeling the weight of my exhaustion press down on me. The workings had taken a great deal of my power, and I suppose I must have looked almost as pathetic as she did after her own meagre workings, though she seemed to have survived _vanastalem_ well enough this time.

I could tell she was fussing without looking at her, hovering over me like a particularly persistent gnat.

‘Will he—’

‘No thanks to you,’ I said without opening my eyes.

She exhaled all her breath at once and I heard the rustling of her ridiculous dress. When I opened my eyes, she was collapsed against the bed in front of me in a heap of cream velvet and golden lace, her face hidden beneath a tumbling mass of brown curls. I wanted badly to be angry with her, to shout at her for putting us both in this ridiculous position. But I couldn’t. There was a small part of me which was impressed with her – impressed that she’d resisted the advances of this royal ogre. And there was a not-quite-so-small part of me was very glad she’d beaten him bloody for his efforts.

This close to her, I could see the prickle of goosepimples across her bare shoulders and see the trembling in her fingertips. She’d been terrified.

‘And now you’re going to blubber, I suppose,’ I snapped, feeling an uncomfortable twist in my stomach at the thought of her tears. ‘What were you thinking? Why did you put yourself into that ludicrous dress if you didn’t want to seduce him?’

‘It was better than staying in the one her tore off me!’ She looked up, and to my surprise her face was flushed with its usual indignance, her eyes dry. ‘ _I_ didn’t choose to be in this—’

She hesitated, holding a fold of her dress and staring at it, as if the ridiculously elaborate gown was a surprise to her, as if it hadn’t been her magic and _her_ will that had brought it into existence. A strange look crossed her face. ‘What have you done to me? He said— he called me a witch. You’ve made me a witch.’

I snorted, hardly able to believe what I was hearing. ‘If I could make witches, I certainly wouldn’t choose a half-wit peasant girl as my material. I haven’t done anything except try and drum a few miserable cantrips into your nearly impenetrable skull.’ Truly, she was a marvel of idiocy if she hadn’t even realised that much.

I used an elbow to push myself up and off the bed, grimacing from the effort. Really, it was a disgrace that I’d allowed myself to become so drained from a couple of healing spells, and for that vile beast of a man as well. She was staring at me, all doe-eyed and slack-mouthed; I could practically hear the thoughts clicking into place in her mind. Unbelievable as it was, it seemed she’d truly had no grasp of what we’d been doing over the past weeks.

‘But then why would you teach me?’ she asked.

‘I would have been delighted to leave you mouldering in your coin-sized village, but my options were painfully limited.’ Her wide eyes continued to stare vacantly up at me and I frowned, perpetually amazed by her ignorance. ‘Those with the gift must be taught: the king’s law requires it. In any case, it would have been idiotic of me to leave you sitting there like a ripe plum until something came along out of the Wood and ate you, and made itself into a truly remarkable horror.’ _Like I did leave her for many years_ , I might have added, still stung by my own folly.

It was at that moment that the other idiot in the room began to attempt to re-join the conversation. My workings had clearly been too effective: Marek began to stir. He shifted and groaned, lifting a heavy hand to his forehead. The girl started away from him, all her terror returning in an instant. She stumbled back from the bed, backing away from the prince and – to my unending surprise – towards me.

‘Here,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘ _Kalikual_. It’s better than beating paramours into insensibility.’

She looked up at me, and then at the prince, and then back to me with a look I knew all too well. ‘If I wasn’t a witch,’ she said, ‘—if I wasn’t a witch, would you let me— could I go home? Couldn’t you take it out of me?’

Her brown eyes were dark and gleaming in the low light, her pale skin almost luminous. There was such open-faced hope there, and in it I could see reflected a hundred years of flinching fear and suspicious glances. I was possessed by a memory of leaping flames and the gathering figures behind them. Even after that, I hadn’t asked _myself_ that question until much, much later.

I felt a weariness that had nothing to do with my workings. ‘No,’ I said.

Prince Marek was resolutely clawing his way back to the world of the living, and I nudged the girl back to the task in hand. He was beginning to sit up and I saw him fix her with that hateful look, likely the first of many to come. At least it seemed to spur her to action.

I barely heard her whisper, ‘ _Kalikual_ ,’ but the prince sank back to his pillows obligingly enough. And of course, the girl too sagged to the ground, as if she _had_ single-handedly managed to cast _Luthe’s Summoning_. I turned away to hide my irritation; as usual, her ability appeared to be completely at odds to the well of power I could sense within her.

Instead my eyes settled on the sleeping prince and wholly different conundrum. A world of problems waited for us both once he awoke – even the memory of her magic was concerning enough, to say nothing of the mess she’d made of his face. I gazed down at him: his skin had healed from my workings, the only sign of his unfortunate encounter the dried blood matted into his hair. He somehow managed to look smug even in slumber, and I felt the stirring heat of my anger return.

Despite everything, I still found that I couldn’t be sorry at what she had done.

‘Won’t his men ask for him in the morning?’ she squeaked from behind me.

Of all the brainless questions. ‘Did you imagine you were going to keep Prince Marek locked up fast asleep in my tower indefinitely?’

‘But then, when he wakes,’ a pause and then, ‘could you— can you make him forget?’

As if it were that easy. I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh certainly,’ I said. ‘He won’t at all notice anything peculiar if he wakes up with a splitting headache and an enormous gap in his memory to go with it.’

‘What if—’ I heard her finally pull herself back to her feet behind me. ‘—what if he remembered something else? Just going to bed in his own room—’

‘Try not to be stupid,’ I snapped, letting my anger get the better of me. ‘You said you didn’t seduce him, so he came up here of his own intention. When was this intention formed? Merely tonight as he already lay in his bed? Or was he thinking of it along the road – a warm bed, welcoming arms—’ I enjoyed the look of disgust on her face, ‘—yes, I realise yours weren’t; you’ve provided sufficient evidence to the contrary. For all we know, he meant to do it even before he set out – a calculated sort of insult.’

‘To insult you?’ she asked very quietly.

‘He supposes I take women to force them to whore for me.’ It was an old rumour, and one I had ceased caring about. ‘Most of these courtiers do: they’d do as much themselves if they had the chance. So I imagine he thought of it as cuckolding me. He would have been delighted to spread it around the court, I’m sure. It’s the sort of thing the Magnati waste their time caring about.’

I felt a coldness as I thought of Marek making his callous plans, no thought spared for depravity of the act he intended to commit.

‘Why would he want to insult you?’ she asked, as if that mattered. ‘Didn’t he come to— to ask you for some magic?’

‘No, he came to enjoy the view of the Wood,’ I scoffed. ‘Of course he came for magic, and I sent him about his business, which is hacking at enemy knights and not meddling in things he scarcely understands. He’s begun to believe his own troubadours: he wanted to try and get back the queen.’

‘But the queen is dead?’

So she’d heard something of this, at least. Bard’s tales, no doubt. It made for a dramatic song, after all: a prince from a foreign land seduces and steals away the queen, only for them flee together from the royal soldiers and into the heart of an evil Wood, never to be seen again. Though, of course, one would have to be careful how to sing those events, lest one offend the wrong set of ears.

It made sense that the people of my Valley would consider the queen dead. They knew all too well what it meant for the Wood to take you; one did not simply walk free from its grasp. Better to assume your loved ones were dead than to see them in the people who stumbled blind and screaming from beneath the shadowed boughs – or worse, to be taken in by their smiles while they walked into your house and put a knife in your back.

Of course, the truth was more horrific than that.

‘No,’ I said. ‘The queen’s not dead. She’s still in the Wood.’ Like so many of them. I shrugged away my weariness and gestured to the prince. ‘There’s no getting her out again, and he’d only start something worse by going in, but he won’t hear it. He thinks killing a day-old hydra has made him a hero.’ He’d even taken the ridiculous thing as his crest, and the worst thing was that the people loved him for it, instead of seeing it for the childish posturing it really was.

I could almost see a flicker of disappointment in the girl’s expression, as if he hadn’t already disappointed her enough this night.

‘In any case,’ I continued, looking away, ‘I suppose he does feel aggrieved; lords and princes loathe magic anyway, and all the more for how badly they need it.’ Better she understood this sooner rather than later. ‘Yes: some petty revenge of that sort is the most likely.’

How pleased he would be with himself at usurping me, adding another vulgar feather to his mantle, strutting about to present it to people who already thought the very worst of me – people whose opinions I hardly cared for. I paused. Of course, it hardly mattered if the prince did just that. My reputation could hardly be damaged any further and I wouldn’t exactly be presenting Agnieszka at court any time soon; by the time she would need to travel to the Charovnikov, she would hardly be recognisable. Perhaps I had been too hard on the girl.

‘However, it’s not an entirely useless idea,’ I admitted. ‘I ought to be able to alter his memory in the other direction.’

I raised a hand and gathered myself; it would take much of my remaining strength to alter his mind.

‘The other direction?’ she asked, achingly naïve.

‘I’ll give him a memory of enjoying your favours,’ I said. ‘Full of suitable enthusiasm on your part and the satisfaction of making a fool of me. I’m sure he won’t have any difficulty swallowing that.’ It was brilliant, really: the dog was at his easiest to control when he was pleased with himself.

‘What?’ Her face fell. ‘You’ll have him— no! He’ll— he’ll—’

I stared at her. She’d flushed bright scarlet in embarrassment. Here was a girl who but a moment before had not only stood up to and refused a prince, but then made good on defending herself, consequences be damned. I gave her an incredulous look. ‘Do you mean to tell me you care what he thinks of you?’

‘If he thinks I’ve lain with him,’ she exclaimed, bristling at the impropriety, ‘what’s to stop him from— from wanting it again!’

A fair point, perhaps.

‘I’ll make it an unpleasant memory – all elbows and shrill maidenly giggling, over quickly,’ I said, enjoying the deepening scarlet of her cheeks. Really, of the all the absurd things to concern herself with now. ‘Or do _you_ have any better notions?’ I asked, spreading my hands in invitation. ‘Perhaps you’d rather he woke up remembering you doing your best to murder him?’

And so it was done. I was depleted and exhausted when I dragged myself back to my room, hardly able to spare a thought for the utter absurdity of my night. Still, as I hauled myself back into my bed, it was hard not to think of the madness which had descended on my tower in these few short weeks. I was a wizard defending the country against an ancient and terrible evil, and yet in a hundred years I had never encountered such a wanton force for chaos as Agnieszka of Dvernik. The thought almost made me smile.

I was still tired when I rose the next morning to see off my royal guest. He was all self-assured smiles and unsubtle smugness, triumphant in his vile achievements.

‘This isn’t over,’ he said lightly, as he jogged down the steps from my door, his attendants scurrying behind him. ‘The Magnati will answer to me, and then you and my father will be forced to see reason.’

I waited by my door, my hands folded behind my back.

‘I serve at the pleasure of the king,’ I said dryly, inclining my head very slightly.

No doubt in response to that, the prince turned and blew a dramatic kiss towards the girl’s window. It took no small amount of self-control not to set his coach on fire.

I was in my library when she reappeared, all tied up in the remains of a gown which used to be beautiful.

‘Very well,’ I said, resigned. At least now she understood why she was here, for all the good it would do me. ‘Today we’ll try—’

‘Wait,’ she cut in, startling me to silence. ‘Can you tell me how to make this something I can wear?’

I pressed my lips into a thin, hard line. ‘If you haven’t grasped _vanastalem_ by now, there is nothing I can possibly do to help you. In fact, I’m inclined to believe you mentally defective.’

‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t want— that spell. I can’t even move in one of these dresses, or lace it for myself, or clean anything—’

I closed my book, bewildered. ‘Why wouldn’t you just use the cleaning cantrips?’ I asked in exasperation. ‘I’ve taught you at least five.’

The blank look in her eyes spoke volumes. ‘It tires me less to scrub.’

‘Yes, I can see you’ll be making a mark on the firmament,’ I muttered; long dead was my notion that I might impart any great knowledge to this impossible girl. ‘What a strange creature you are: don’t all peasant girls dream of princes and ballgowns?’ Every one of her predecessors had seemed pleased with their finery… and I’m sure a number of them would have welcomed Prince Marek to their bed. ‘Try to degrade it, then.’

‘What?’ she said, in what was becoming her habitual response to anything I said.

‘Drop part of the word,’ I explained patiently – if she’d listened to a single word I’d said over the last three weeks, she might have figured this out on her own. ‘Slur it, mumble it, something of the sort—’

‘Just— any part?’ She looked like she doubted me. ‘ _Vanalem?’_

She phrased the cantrip as a question, but it worked all the same. Soon she stood before me in a simple brown dress, still tied in the green she seemed so fond of. More of the forest, though this time she looked like she was ready to go stomping through it. She stood a little straighter, brighter somehow, and I was forced to admit that it suited her better than all that finery.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘If you’ve arranged yourself to your satisfaction?’ I held out my arm, summoning a book to my hand. ‘We’ll begin with syllabic composition.’

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Sorry for the delay in writing this - Covid time is weird. Suddenly April was gone and here we are a week into May! What? Anyway, here it is, in its usual unedited, unpolished state.
> 
> If you're returning to this mad project, thank you so much. Thank you so much for your comments! I can't tell you how much it makes my day to know people are reading this and to get your comments in my inbox! Thank you!
> 
> Hope you're all safe and well out there, and thank you again for reading.


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